The Yellow Brick Road Leads to Fate's Destiny
by McRose
Summary: Author: Janlaw. Past Paraguay - OUR road leads to the right - AU from the scene in the admiral's office. Don't let the Prologue discourage! 28 Aug 10 - Epilogue posted - the end for now - shipper alert! I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Yellow Brick Road Leads to Fate's Destiny (originally written for the Spring 2009 Ficathon)

**Prompts:**

(1) From _Adam's Rib_ suggested by Ann (the original one). "Lawyers should never marry other lawyers. This is called in-breeding, from this comes idiot children ….and other lawyers."  
(2) From _Love Story_ suggested by Araninda. "Love means never having to say you're sorry."  
(3) From _I Think I Love My Wife_ suggested by doc. Richard Cooper: "You know, some people say life is short and that you could get hit by a bus at any moment and that you have to live each day like it's your last. Bullshit. Life is long. You're probably not gonna get hit by a bus. And you're gonna have to live with the choices you make for the next fifty years."

**Word count:** 6,000+

**Category:** Angst/romance

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** Not mine, no intent to infringe ….

**Author's Notes:** We are going to take cosmic license and pretend that in 2003 October 23th was on a Saturday.

**Summary:** Yet another Paraguay fix-it. Please don't be discouraged by the Prologue – this is a shipper story for Harm and Mac shipper fans.

**Prologue**

Our story starts with Paraguay – as seen on the screen – sigh -- and continues into the admiral's office. His rant at Harm begins …. and there we diverge, to the AU of this story. The road to the left leads to seasons 9 and 10. Thankfully, we don't go to the left, but to the right.

As AJ's rant continued, as he brushed aside her protestation that Harm had saved her life, Mac's pale, bruised face grew paler. Impulsively interrupting some crap about taxis and alligators, she requested leave.

"Admiral, I don't feel ready to return to work yet. May I have leave?"

Barely pausing, Chegwidden snapped at her. "A week, take a week, and if you're not ready to work I want a doctor's note, preferably a psychiatrist's!"

Not waiting for his angry 'dismissed,' Mac was gone.

To Harm's surprise and consternation, his commanding officer slapped a folder on his desk, icily informing him that he was going TAD to Fort Bliss, Texas for 179 days. He would be instructing IAs - individual augmentees – from all of the services who were headed to Iraq via Fort Bliss, where they would receive training and outfitting. He'd teach UCMJ 101, Rules of Engagement 201, and the Law of War 301. Each three week session ended on Thursday, new instructor orientation was Friday and Saturday. He left JAG still in the Navy, headed to the Army, determined to cut ties with JAG and everyone there. Chegwidden made it clear that no contact was necessary or desired during his TAD. In effect, he'd been shrouded.

Three days later, life in the desert began. It was mercilessly hot, hotter than anywhere he'd ever been for such a prolonged period. His actual duties were easy enough – he was using Power Points and notes created by former instructors, though he was free to adapt the lesson plans as desired. He quickly grasped that his lectures, role playing and discussion scenarios might not keep his students alive – that was the goal of the field training - but could keep them from creating or contributing to international incidents, from being court-martialed for losing their tempers or their common sense and good judgment.

That was late May, and June came and went, and summer wore on. Slowly. As the heat shimmered off the roadways he learned that even at 4 am he couldn't run without quarts of water to keep from dehydrating. The nightmares still came, his sleep haunted by the events of the past year. Afghanistan. If the bombs hadn't fallen would he and Mac have made love? Or at least spoken their love? Bud's accident. Singer. His month in the Brig. Paraguay. Over and over, in slow motion and fast forward. Rewind. Again and again. The missionaries murdered. Mac tied to that table, about to be tortured. Webb, clearly seriously injured. Mac kissing him. Destroying the stingers. The plane crashing. The hotel. The taxi stand. He dreamed in black and white and he dreamed in color.

What probably saved his sanity was a flyer on the bulletin board in the BOQ's lobby: "Volunteers Needed" "No Experience Necessary."

The group was somewhat similar to Habitat for Humanity but didn't build homes. It fixed them. Loosely tied to a national "Christmas in April" organization, they were military and civilian volunteers, a combination of business owners and workers, men, women and children. Their mission was simple – to make it possible for elderly homeowners, mainly but not entirely veterans, to remain in their homes by repairing and modernizing the dwellings – some little more than shacks – that had fallen into disrepair and worse. Some lacked heat, some lacked indoor plumbing. Some of the core volunteers were licensed electricians, plumbers, contractors. Others were experienced amateurs. Some did mainly fund-raising and organizing. One house every two months – some weekday work in preparation, most of the work in one intense weekend of dawn to night labor.

Harm knew he'd lived a comfortable middle class – even upper middle class life - so the level of poverty he observed was unknown to him. A few veterans he quietly helped obtain increased benefits, a few children or grandchildren he tutored or played ball with. He gave it every spare hour and recognized that it did as much for him as he did for it.

Slowly, as the months passed, he began to think of life after the Navy. He had less than two years to retirement eligibility and he had no intention of giving up the security of income for life, and the medical and other benefits. But, he began to consider the alternatives. Working with his hands – maybe skilled carpentry work. Quality labor was much in demand. Maybe teaching. He was good at it, he realized. Maybe special ed. One Sunday night, he'd started to doodle at a portable keyboard as the player and a guitarist took a break and he soon found himself surrounded. One of the fathers who volunteered with his teenage son invited him back to the house for burgers and tamales; there Harm met his eleven year old wheelchair bound daughter. Congenital abnormalities included what appeared to be partially webbed fingers and feet, and imperfectly performed surgery had led to scarring and contraction. The child's intelligence was relatively normal and her fervent desire was to learn to play the battered piano mainly used as a piece of furniture. Two evenings a week Harm worked with her, patiently teaching the simplest of tunes to fingers that could barely hold a spoon.

Now it was late October. His 40th birthday. Not where he'd planned to be, and not what he'd thought he'd be doing but his life had changed in the span of the past year. Part – a lot – his own fault, he knew. Part circumstances. Part just the way he was. There was no way he could not have gone after Mac, no matter the consequences.

His third house. He'd "progressed" from water boy to roofer to crew leader. He wasn't happy, he wasn't sad, he realized as he wearily showered that Sunday night. Just over a month more of his "179 days" exile, he suddenly realized and he knew, with stunning certainty, that he'd do anything to keep from returning to JAG. He could never work for Chegwidden again. He'd cut himself off from everyone, not returning a single call or voicemail, not responding to a single email. He'd called to speak to AJ once a week or so, unwilling or unable to totally desert his godson, although it was agony listening to the child prattle on about "Aun' Mac this" and "Aun' Mac that." Resolving to call his detailer the next day and request that his orders be extended another 179 days, he drifted off to the ever present nightmares.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1.

Monday, 25 October 2003

0730

Fort Bliss Training Center

"Good weekend?" Standing between their two classrooms, Lt Col Zachariah "Zack" Fulman, an Air Force clinical psychologist, grinned at Harm. "Another house rehabbed?"

"Yeah," Harm smiled tiredly, gulping the strong black coffee he'd gotten used to. "Third house. I've graduated from water boy to roofer to crew chief," he noted proudly. "You?"

"It was good," Zack too was tired. Mondays were always hard. While he was stationed in Korea, his wife had returned home to Dallas with their 12 year old son and promptly filed for divorce. Fort Bliss had been the best he could do for proximity and each Thursday or Friday evening he flew across the state, determined to at least be a "weekend dad." Sunday night he flew back. He had done this for nearly 18 months. He'd yet to miss a weekend.

"Not much of a birthday for you, though." Chatting desultorily, Zack suddenly straightened to attention, hissing at Harm, "Eagles, incoming!"

"Ma'am," he greeted the approaching officer courteously. "Good morning."

"As you were, gentlemen." And then, "Harm, how are you?"

The earth nearly did shift on its axis for just a moment as Harm slowly turned to the face and voice that had haunted his dreams, night after night, and sometimes his days, for years, but never more than the past five months.

"Mac?" His voice was nearly inaudible. "Wh ..what are you doing here" Then, it hit him – "you've come to relieve me? Why didn't you call?" Her face was thinner, and her hair a bit shorter, but even in desert digies and combat boots she'd never looked more beautiful.

"Would you have returned an 18th call?" Mac started to respond tartly but trailed off as an overlooked item hit her – "Happy Birthday, Harm, I am SO sorry, I did have a card but then I got my orders and I think it's in a box I packed to store …."

"It's okay." For somewhere deep down, it just tumbled out. "Do you remember that movie? 'Love means never having to say you're sorry.'" Open mouth, insert foot. Or maybe fist.

Even as Mac gasped, Zack's quizzical voice intruded. "Do you two know each other? Are you both lawyers?" As they turned to him he couldn't help it.

"Lawyers should never marry other lawyers. This is called in-breeding, from this comes idiot children. . .and other lawyers." As they gaped at him dumbly he tried to be helpful. "You don't remember it? That's another old movie. You two sound like Hepburn and Tracy…." Remembering his manners, and military courtesy, he gasped. "I apologize, Ma'am."

Even as Mac stared at him, Harm tried. "Mac, this is Lt Col Zachariah Fulman. Zack, Colonel – "

"O'Hara, MacKenzie O'Hara. Call me 'Mac.'" Interrupting firmly and loudly and recovering fast, Mac extended her hand.

His eyes bulging wide open now, Harm finally focused on her uniform – the eagles on her collar, the "O'Hara" on her nametag.

"Mac, what the devil ….are you …"

"Not here" she hissed at him. "Isn't it class time?"

As Harm continued to stare at her she relented, "I'm not here to relieve you, Harm. Sorry. I'm one of your students for the next three weeks; I've got orders to Iraq. Maybe ….we could have dinner tonight? Talk?"

"Talk? Dinner? Yes, we need to talk." Harm knew he sounded stupid, repeating her, but he couldn't help it. What the devil was going on?

**********

Somehow, he got through the day. He brushed off Zack's questions when he tried to talk to him. His lunch break, he walked away from the building and found a quiet spot, scrolling through his contacts list, carefully accessing a once-familiar number.

"LT Quinn, good morning!" The unfamiliar voice, a woman's, took Harm by surprise.

"This is Commander Rabb, I'm trying to reach Commander Turner. Has he moved to another office?"

"I'm sorry sir, he's been transferred."

"Lieutenant Roberts?" The same response. "Lieutenant Sims?" The same.

Slowly, Harm pressed end. What had happened back at JAG?

*********

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_Readers, thanks for the comments – I've tried to reply to each of you individually (a response to Leyte's comments is posted as a "review" for those who read the reviews), and am so happy to hear that you're enjoying yet another "Paraguay fix." I do believe this one is a bit original. Janlaw_

Chapter 2.

Fort Bliss BOQ

Monday Evening

25 October 2003

1800

Knocking smartly on the room identified by the BOQ's front desk, Harm nearly fell over – again – as Mac opened the door. Clad in workout gear, she had obviously just returned to the room – her hair was curled into damp ringlets around her face and her shirt clung wet to her body, every curve totally exposed. It was somehow more erotic than if she'd been naked. Not that he'd ever seen her naked. Just that he'd imagined it.

"Ma –acc," he stammered. "I thought you said 6?"

"And you've learned to be on time?" The banter was back. The quick give-and-take; t he witty repartee. It was as though they'd never been at odds, never apart…. Mac's easy relaxed teasing voice and smirking smile suddenly crumpled as she choked, "God, Harm, I've missed you so much. So much…."

"And I you." Somewhere deep within his battered heart Harm knew that this was a pivotal moment. Stepping forward decisively, he held out his hands, his arms, curved to hug ….and without a moment's hesitation Mac was hugging him fiercely to her, her whole body trembling damply against him.

"Hey..hey…" Gently he cuddled her against him, resting his face against her head, trying to ignore the steam rising between their bodies, his arousal instantaneous.

They clung together for a long minute that seemed even longer, until they parted slightly. Their eyes met, and finally, each saw in the other what each had denied for so long. There was want, and there was need, and there was love. No words were spoken aloud but the unspoken words hovered between them. Then still without a word, their lips met in a long hungry kiss. Searching. Seeking. Nibbling. Devouring. Speaking words of love without a single sound.

Finally, Mac choked back a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "We're something else, aren't we?"

"That we are Mac, that we are."

"And forever will be?" She held her breath.

"Yes." It was said. One word. One syllable. No hesitation or equivocation. Not the way he'd sometimes, in his dreams over the years, envisioned, but no matter. Now if Mac understood ….

Mac smiled tremulously at him, and finally began. "There's so much to talk about, so much I want to say to you …." It was eerily reminiscent of a years-ago conversation and they both knew it as they stared at each other but the next part was quite different: "…and this time, I'm going to find the words."

"Me too Mac. Me too."

From down the hall they heard laughter, smelled pizza in the corridor. Harm glanced uneasily around the tiny BOQ room. "Mac, why aren't you in a VIP suite? You're wearing eagles, I assume your orders say 'Colonel.' This is even smaller than my room."

"I'm on the wait list," Mac explained. "Flag and General officers are in all the suites, this is a junior officer's room." She looked around, shaking her head ruefully. "Actually, it's probably double the space I'll have in Iraq, unless I'm in one of Saddam's palaces. This base is jammed – staff, visitors, students." She looked at Harm, sighing. "I'm starving, I want a shower, and I want to talk to you. And I want …well, I guess it's no secret now. I want you. Where can we go?"

Harm shook his head. "My room is barely larger and I've only been to a few actual restaurants in El Paso, mainly small, local Mexican places. Would you - would you be willing to go to a hotel? We could get a suite, order room service?"

"Sure." Mac smiled happily, though her mind immediately visualized not the living room of the suite but the bedroom! "I'll shower while you find one."

With the sound of the shower greatly interfering with his concentration, and not from the running water but the visuals, Harm reserved a suite at the Radisson.

**********

"So, who first?" Their hunger for each other had overwhelmed them the moment they walked in the door, and they barely made it to the bedroom. The first time ….the last first time for each of them. It was all either had dreamed of and more.

Much later, her stomach finally full, Mac sat back from the table in the tastefully decorated living room, admiring the profusion of flowers – birds of paradise and other less familiar blooms in the garden outside the floor to ceiling window, the pool and spa barely visible along a curving path through the gardens. Darkness had fallen, but tiny twinkling lights lit the paths.

"Mac, what's going on? At noon I called back to JAG – a LT answered the phone in Sturgis' office, she said he and Bud and Harriet have all transferred. And when did you get promoted and what about your name? Are you going into Iraq on a mission, undercover?" Harm's questions spilled out, rapidly following each other.

Mac nodded, acknowledging his need for information. She abruptly stood, crossing to the window to study the view, finally turning back to Harm. "A lot's happened Harm, these last few months. I gather you haven't kept in touch with anyone?"

Harm shook his head, suddenly ashamed of himself. Sturgis and Bud and Harriet had been caught in the cross-fire of his anger and bitterness. They hadn't done anything to warrant his ignoring them, but after trying and trying they finally gave up when email after email and voicemails went unanswered. "Only little AJ; I called him once or twice every week. He never talked about anything but you."

Crossing to the sofa, Mac plopped into the middle, sighing. Gesturing to Harm, he joined her, hesitantly offering an arm.

For over an hour, at times patting his arm, at time gripping it ferociously, Mac talked without stopping. After she talked over his first question or two, seemingly without even hearing him, Harm gave up, and just listened intently. He realized this was something of a catharsis for her. "I got back from the leave I'd asked for – I went to the beach, to Cape May – and found you gone. Part of me was so mad at you for leaving, part of me was glad – I don't think I could have put things right between us then. But the admiral … Harm, he was impossible, just impossible. Since he was obviously mad at you, you'd think he'd be okay with you gone. But if anything, he was worse. He stayed in his office with the door shut or he yelled at anyone for anything ….no one could take it. I tried to hold things together day to day, but it was a losing battle. Coates caved first, she told me she was throwing up all the time, she couldn't sleep; she terminated her shore duty and went back to sea."

"Sturgis was the next to go, he went back to the subs – this time in Norfolk – the SJA billet. He's had it with JAG and with the Navy; he told me he's going to retire the instant he hits 20. Harriet and Bud negotiated orders just last week, she's going to be the Deputy PAO at LANTFLT and Bud's got a Department Head billet at TSO Mid-Lant. They're on PCS leave now, house-hunting in Norfolk/Virginia Beach." Mac considered how to put it: "I think they only waited as long as they did because they didn't want to leave me there alone. They're both pretty bitter at AJ."

Covering one hand with the other, rubbing her knuckles, Mac shifted and continued rapidly, as though she wanted to get it all out as fast as possible. "My monitor called me just as I was ready to call him. Harm, things are a real mess in Iraq. I'm going to be the SJA to the CENTCOM four-star, who's also got the Multi-National Force Iraq. The Army colonel who's been his SJA is being returned stateside early, his two year old son's been diagnosed with leukemia. He's a single parent. It's just starting to come out, but there's been torture or close to it, all kinds of abuses, human rights and Geneva Convention violations, contract fraud, massive theft , maybe some fragging ….but no matter how bad it'll be, I am just _so_ glad to be gone from JAG. It hasn't been the same for a long time."

Her voice was very bitter. "Not like it used to be, with a CO who cared about us, not a jerk who abandoned me to die, who nearly ruined your career, who didn't trust you about Singer and wouldn't help you or let us help you …." Mac's voice slowed and she spoke haltingly, blinking her eyes rapidly. "Harm, I am so, so sorry. You've always given 200% for your friends. You must be so angry at all of us." Tall as she was, she seemed to shrink into the sofa cushions. "I had no idea what to expect. I wouldn't have blamed you if you'd slapped me this morning and told me to go to hell."

"Don't say that!" Harm tried to moderate his tone. "Nothing you did comes close to the way I treated you. I was so jealous of Webb I couldn't see straight; I was so stupid about Singer …." Calming, he insisted, "we both have plenty to be sorry about but I hope you know I meant it this morning. Like the movie said ….But Mac, what about your promotion? You're only a couple of months senior to me for 0-5 and I know I'm not in zone until 2005. AND your name? "

Mac's fingers went to where her collar would be if she were wearing one, fingering the edge of her V-necked shirt. She shrugged. "I was way, way below zone. I was so far below zone I never even thought about it until the Commandant called." She looked at Harm a little timidly. "Are you okay with it, me getting my eagles first? I'm just frocked now."

"I don't know anyone who deserves it more." Harm's tone was sincere, and he really did mean it. Mac would probably be the youngest colonel in the Corps, and she would undoubtedly be on the fast track for stars after Iraq. He'd always been proud of her accomplishments.

Ignoring her immediate retort of "you do" Harm continued. "Okay, you're on a roll, how about the rest? The suspense is killing me."

TBC.


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks so much for your comments – I'm so happy to know that you're enjoying the story. _

Chapter 3.

Same time/same place.

Swallowing nervously, Mac disentangled her hands from Harm's arm and crossed to the mini-fridge for a bottle of water, tossing one to Harm. Drinking deeply, she fidgeted with the edge of the curtains, staring into the darkness outside, focusing first on the twinkling lights in the garden below, then on the stars high above.

"Mac?" Harm's voice was soft behind her. Instinctively, he knew that this would be the hardest part. He was dying to know how Sarah MacKenzie had become MacKenzie O'Hara, but he wondered if she was wrung dry for the night. This couldn't be easy for her. "Do you want to take a break? Get some sleep? Or hear about life at Fort Bliss?"

"No." Her voice was tired, and slightly hoarse but she looked steadily at him. "I want to tell you the rest. More than that, I need to tell you. Especially now, now that we're …you know."

"Can I hold you?" Harm just wasn't sure whether she needed space or him. Returning to the couch, Mac motioned and he stretched out, then helped her sit with the back of her head against his chest, his arms gently circling her waist. "Go ahead," he urged.

Rubbing each of his arms lightly, Mac began. "The whole year had been a horror, from when we were in Afghanistan. We just went from one bad thing to another. Then we were so busy taking care of Bud and Harriet we forgot to take care of ourselves. Then Singer…then Paraguay …Harm, I came back from that hell in such a bad place, such a dark place ….." Her body shook slightly, but then he felt her shoulders, and her resolve, her nerve, stiffen as she continued.

"I've done five months intensive psychotherapy, four nights a week. If I wasn't going to Iraq, I'd be continuing for another year or more. I'm going to keep working with my therapist by phone to the maximum extent possible." Mac held her breath for a minute. This had been her fear all summer and fall – that her friends, her colleagues, her superiors – would think her a nut case. When Harm's only reaction was to run his fingers through her hair, smoothing it, she took a deep breath and continued.

"It was Gunny who made me see that I had to get help. He came to JAG about a week after I started back, and after the small talk it all came out. The Marines had jerked him out of Paraguay the day after we left; his cover with the CIA had been totally blown. He got 45 days con leave, then the usual proceed and leave and travel time – he got orders to an instructor billet at Camp Pendleton. He told me it's his last billet – he's retiring in three years, going back to school for a Master's in Criminal Justice Administration or to law school, or just going fishing. Anyway, he told me he went home, to New Mexico, but he couldn't sleep, couldn't stop screaming at his family, couldn't do anything, had nightmares day and night, was drinking …he said he went on line and found a group of therapists connected to the Baltimore-Washington Psychoanalytic Institute offering free or reduced fee help. So he came back to DC and started working with one."

Mac bit her lips, her fingers digging tightly into Harm's arms. She continued. "I – I had some of the same problems. I called …and …and …every dollar's been worth it. Maybe the best money I've ever spent. Anyway, by September I knew I could do years of therapy and probably understand some of the root causes of why I've let men choose me, why I've always had such low self-esteem in my personal life, why I've acted the way I have – to you – to us – to myself - but I wanted to short-cut it. I knew I didn't have years." She paused, trying to collect her wayward thoughts.

"What did you do?" Harm encouraged.

This was in some ways the hardest part. "For years and years, I'd hated being 'Sarah.' SHE was the frightened kid who hid under the covers or in the closet, or under the bed, whose father terrorized her, whose mother left her. She drank, she became a drunkard, she did other bad things, and she didn't keep her best friend from killing himself. She made stupid choices and she did it again and again and again …she let Dalton snow her with pretty words, she let Mic run all over her, try to railroad her. I hated who Sarah had been – who she was - and I didn't want to be her."

Mac paused briefly, staring blindly at the window, then continued. "I want to be Mac – she has the inner strength I want to have and she's a success at what she does – well, at least most of the time. I finally realized after session after session of therapy, that's who I am and that's who I'm going to be." Mac didn't care if she sounded defiant now. "So, I changed my name. I didn't care what the actual first name was as long as I could be Mac – I thought about "Makayla" but it didn't sound right. "O'Hara" – that was an obvious choice – in Leavenworth or not, my uncle's the finest man I know, next to you."

"Like I said, I could have probably worked through it with years of therapy, but I didn't want to. I want to get on with my life and I want to put being 'Sarah' behind me. Do- do you think I'm just stupid and silly about it?"

It was probably a good thing Harm and Mac were both facing forward. He was a proud man, and never wanted anyone to see him cry. Now he made no move to wipe his eyes – not that he could have moved his arms from under Mac's hands.

Harm leaned his face into her hair and his voice shook. "I could never, ever think you're 'stupid or silly.' I've always admired your strength, your resiliency, your ability to bounce back from adversity, and I've never been more proud of you than I am tonight. I only wish I had half your courage. You've always been Mac to me, and I always saw how you cringed when Brumby called you 'Sarah.' Even if I didn't really know why, I could see you didn't like it. Mac, I haven't had a night's sleep since before I went to Paraguay and now I'm thinking you'll think I'm the silly one when I tell you what I've done to keep sane the last few months."

Harm took a deep breath, calming himself. "Let's get some sleep, okay? We can get up early and work out here and I'll tell you about my life at Fort Bliss before we get some breakfast and go to class. And you're lucky; I didn't give homework the first day! How's that sound?"

"Sounds like a plan." Mac was physically and emotionally exhausted.

For the first time in many months, they both slept soundly through the night.

TBC.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks for the comments – as well as the personal emails - indicating you're continuing to enjoy this "Paraguay fix." I am truly overwhelmed by the very kind words._

********************

**Chapter 4**

**Two weeks later.  
Sunday, November 7th  
Radisson Hotel**

"Two weeks from tomorrow, I'll be on my way to Iraq." Mac tried to smile at Harm as they meandered slowly along the garden path from the pool, their hands intertwined. They'd kept the suite at the Radisson, returning to the BOQ only for Mac's gear and more of Harm's clothes and uniforms. He'd kept his room, she'd checked out. There was one more week of training, then she had a week's leave.

Night after night, they'd talked through the past and present of their lives. They both acknowledged regrets about some of their past behavior and actions or inactions, and then resolved to move on. At Mac's invitation, Harm had participated in two draining sessions with her psychologist on a telephone conference call.

"I know therapy'd probably be good for me," Harm admitted afterwards, "but I dunno ….I just don't have it in me to start …maybe later. Maybe it's because I was forced to, after my ramp strike, but I just hate talking to shrinks. "

He grimaced, realizing how that might sound to Mac, who had done it four nights a week for months.

She'd smiled somewhat ruefully, nodding her head. "That was me, when I started, but I knew I had to do it. You have to do what feels right for you, and you chose another way."

Mac had listened attentively to Harm's account of what he'd been doing in El Paso and far from thinking him silly, she was visibly moved and admiring. She'd gone with him to the next set of organizational meetings where the next house for rehab was selected and accompanied him to the Espinosa's, learning to make tamales while he worked at the piano with Marita.

"Mac, you said you've got orders for a year, what happens after that?"

"I can choose my next duty station; if there's no billet open, I'll be stashed or x-coded until one opens up. That's the deal the Corps's offering IAs."

Mac paused, looking up at Harm and the sliver of moon behind him. He'd made it clear he saw their future together and she hoped she'd made it clear she wanted that too, but the actual words hadn't been voiced. Mac realized how far she'd come. Even a half year before, she would have needed to hear the words.

"Okay. I called my detailer and asked for another 179 days here. The admiral has no interest in having me back at JAG HQ, and no one else is jumping up and down wanting to come teach in the desert, so there's no problem. I'm waiting for the orders. If you can choose where you want to go, will you choose someplace with Navy nearby? I can ask for something there, anything, and be there when you arrive. I'll do the tour, the three years, and then I want to retire."

Motioning to Mac to wait, seeing that she was about to protest, Harm shook his head.

"Mac, I've known for months that my time in the Navy needs to end. I've done my best, and I don't have any real regrets, but it's time. There's different work waiting for me, and I want it. A life with you, that'll make it perfect."

He paused, and then continued, a bit nervously, "I almost forgot, will you marry me? Here, before you leave for Iraq? When you get your mid-tour leave, I'll meet you somewhere nice. Paris, Venice, wherever you'd like. That can be our honeymoon."

Mac was momentarily speechless. She'd loved this man for years, but had given up on anything more than maybe parting as friends or at least former friends who shared a godson and could be civil to each other when she'd arrived at Fort Bliss. Now ….now, the future she'd dreamed of beckoned.

"Harm, I love you but are you sure? Anything can happen this next year …are you sure you don't want to wait?"

"You know, some people say life is short and that you could get hit by a bus at any moment and that you have to live each day like it's your last. Bullshit. Life is long. You're probably not gonna get hit by a bus. And you're gonna have to live with the choices you make for the next fifty years. I love you and you love me. So, what say you, Mac? Marry me Friday and spend your leave here with me?"

There was only one possible answer. "Yes."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Epilogue**

**20 December 2004  
MCAS Miramar  
San Diego CA**

Of course they got married. When Harm put it like that, Mac was ready to 'grab the brass ring.' Or 'follow the yellow brick road.' Or any other cliché that ended in "just married!"

On Thursday after the training wrapped up they got the license in El Paso and Mac bought a dress and Harm a suit. Trish and Frank were on a cruise ship in the Greek Isles and would stop in El Paso a week later, on their way home to La Jolla. Harm's grandmother was 85, but she was still spry and promptly committed to being the family on both sides of the aisle, when Harm and Mac called her.

"Only for you, Harmon, would I fly today's "unfriendly skies," she noted drolly. Harm offered first class tickets – he had large quantities of frequent flyer miles on every major airline still flying and she enjoyed the extra comfort and service.

Friday morning, they were married in a simple ceremony at the Fort Bliss chapel, by one of the Army chaplains who was also a volunteer in the 'Christmas in April' group. Mac was thrilled and Harm humbled by the presence of Sturgis, Bud and Harriet, who brought a wide-eyed, beaming AJ with them. They took everyone to lunch, and the Espinosa family insisted on hosting a Texas-style barbeque that evening. Harm and Mac then adjourned to the Radisson, "do not disturb" hanging from the doorknob!

Negotiations for their follow-on tours continued through the week. With Harm insistent that the next tour would be his last, Mac wanted him to choose the locale. By mutual consent, DC and its environs were out. They had both cut their ties to JAG and wanted to start their life together somewhere else. After considering Norfolk, Europe, Japan, Korea and Hawaii, they settled on the obvious. San Diego it would be. There were a considerable number of JAG billets in the area, and three large Marine bases. A conference call with Harm's detailer and Mac's monitor and the arrangements were confirmed by email from each of those officers' division heads. Geographic location confirmed, exact billets "TBD." They were fine with it. Mac liked the climate and the area, and both wanted to be near Trish and Frank as they got older.

"Someone to spoil the grandchildren," Mac grinned.

Mac voiced her fear that trying to start a family at 39 – the age she'd be when she returned from Iraq - might be a problem, but they decided that they'd give it a year and if no child materialized, they'd adopt, from overseas if necessary.

A final long kiss, the last whispered words, and Mac boarded the bus to Holliman AFB for the flights to Iraq. Halfway through her tour, they met in Vienna. Mac had left it to Harm to choose.

"Anywhere with every comfort!" was her only requirement. Arriving a day early, Harm enlisted the concierge's help in acquiring toiletries and clothes, and their reunion ignited a fire the like of which neither had ever known.

Somewhat to his surprise, Harm found himself really enjoying his San Diego billet. He was fully utilized as a trusted advisor to his Commander and the senior staff, and was pleased to be asked several times to be an Article 32 Investigating Officer by the Trial Service Office Southwest. Shortly after arrival he put in his papers, careful to make sure he more than met the Navy's requirement of 12 months notice of intent to retire, requesting a 1 June 2007 retirement date. Questioned by the admiral, he was quick to explain that it was nothing to do with the command or his duties, both of which he liked very much, but that he wanted to do something different with the next phase of his life.

Accepted at San Diego State University, he began work on the courses he'd need for certification as a Special Education teacher. He was determined to make a difference in children's lives.

Hardest, of course, was knowing that Mac was always in danger, even when she was in the relative safety of the Green Zone. Thanks to modern technology – cell phones, her sat phone, email – they wrote or spoke just about every night, but every news bulletin, every email notice of incidents in Iraq, brought new trepidations, until his email pinged or his phone rang. It didn't help that she crisscrossed the countryside repeatedly, doing her share and more to help bring the rule of law to the war-torn country.

The cacophony of laughter and the milling of families gathering, of parents attempting to corral their children, of a child's shrill wail as a balloon floated skyward, barely penetrated. She'd be arriving in …..not for the first time, Harm wished he had Mac's sense of time!

The huge transport lumbered into view in the winter sky, though "winter" in San Diego was still pleasantly warm. As senior officer aboard, Mac was the first out the hatch, towering nearly three stories above the tarmac, greeted by the Commanding General of Miramar's Marine Air Wing.

Then …then it was their time, and there was nothing and no one to stop them as they came together, oblivious to the whirring of the TV cameras.

**The end**


End file.
